


To Build A Planet

by underoriginal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, F/F, Redemption, Romance (but it's not the focus. yet.), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underoriginal/pseuds/underoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Symmetra is sent on a covert mission to infiltrate Overwatch and learn their secrets, not yet realizing how deep her own doubts run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Symmetra had been gifted her own private office in Rio de Janeiro. At the time, she had simply accepted it as a gift. Now, she realized the plan that had accompanied it. She stood, back straight, hands behind her back, facing forwards, as Sanjay explained her newest mission to her. 

“We have reason to believe that the terrorist, Lucio Correia dos Santos, has taken refuge with Overwatch,” he informed her. “Obviously, this means that Overwatch is choosing to ignore the international sanctions against their continued operations. Unfortunately, they have access to our technology and some very bright minds. I am sending you on a three month mission to infiltrate them and gather as much insight as you can into their movements and character.”

Symmetra nodded. A whole host of questions swirled in her mind, but she did not ask any of them. She had been chosen for missions such as these before. “Will that be all, sir?” she asked.

“One more thing, Vaswani,” Sanjay said. “You will take this mission under your given name. Overwatch has the ability to figure out who you are and it is likely that Correia, at the least, is aware of your existence. You will not be able to perform this mission under an assumed name.”

“I understand,” Symmetra said, panic rising in her throat. 

“Good luck,” Sanjay said and ended the transmission.

Symmetra refused to let herself stop moving. She picked up her tablet and read the mission specs as she paced around her room. It was brick and mortar, augmented with hard light, but old enough that she had worn the barest edges of a path in her usual pacing path

She was to pretend to have forsworn Vishkar, the very same corporation that had raised her out of the slum and given her the means to excel in that which was most important to her. They had outlined a story for her: she blamed Vishkar for the fire in the favela and she believed that Overwatch could do more good with less collateral. It was a convincing enough story and she filed it away among all the other reasons she had to explain herself. It helped to have them handy, tucked into a little corner of her mind. She wasn’t as good at explaining her morals on the spot.

She was used to being sent throughout the world on missions for Vishkar and she had perfected her preparation routine. First, a week’s worth of clothes and a currency card that worked at laundromats. Then, all her electronic devices, except for tablet and comm that she kept on her person. Then, the maintenance kit for her arm. She made one last circle of the room she had spent months in, searching for anything she may have missed.

When she was sure she had everything, Symmetra began her dance. She spun and weaved, pulling hard light into shape between her fingers, letting it flow through the natural pathways of her body. She stripped all her augmentations away from the room, leaving bare brick behind. As she danced, she created her new self.

She had been many people before: Priya, a stranded college student; Hiya, a low-level technician; Srikavya, an apprentice translator. She had been on many covert missions before, but never as Satya. Never as herself.

She spent hours dancing until night had fallen over Rio de Janeiro. She slipped out a window with her small pack of supplies. She wore her hair in a single dangling braid and clothes of a style she had not worn since she was a small child. By morning, she reached a small town on the outskirts of the city.

She checked into the hotel under a brand new fake name: Teresa Moreno. If she was supposed to be hiding from Vishkar, it made sense to use an identity they had never seen before. The hotel’s wi-fi left a lot to be desired, but after half an hour, she finally managed to load a single page of D. Va’s website. The gamer had a habit of streaming the missions she went on for Overwatch, although she was careful to use an algorithm that distorted or deleted any reference to her location or compatriots. Symmetra knew how effective the program was; she had tried to break it many times herself.

Symmetra created a new account in Teresa Moreno’s name and sent D. Va a private message. “I have become disillusioned with Vishkar’s actions,” she wrote. In another circumstance, she would have encoded the message but she wanted to ensure that D. Va understood her and she had no reason to believe that a famous online gamer was also a cryptographer. “I still believe in their principals, but I do not believe that they are capable of enacting those principals. I wish to join your organization to help save people from the kind of chaos that Overwatch has always fought.”

She read the brief message over and over again until she was satisfied. She had always believed in Vishkar with all her heart. It would not be easy to even pretend to forsake them.

While she waited for a reply, she set about making her tiny room more comfortable. The hotel had to have been built at least a century ago and had never been affluent. She had one small room and a bathroom that more closely resembled a closet. After a quick inspection of the bed, she ripped off all the sheets and made herself a nest on the floor. The floor wasn’t much less disgusting than the bed but at least it afforded her some pressure.

She sat in the middle of her floor nest, playing with a prism of light between her fingertips, as she pondered her mission. It would be difficult to keep the two halves of herself separate when she called them by the same name. Her true self, she decided, would be referred to as Symmetra and the defector would be Satya Vaswani, the name she had been given to use.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable, to even think ill of Vishkar, but she had sought out dissidents before. But not usually from a source outside the communities they built.

She put all the doubt out of her mind. “Vishkar is ineffective,” she whispered, barely allowing any breath past her lips. “They are ineffectual and counterproductive. Their goals are best achieved by other means.” She repeated the words over and over, flipping her prism to the pulse of the words. As the words flitted over her lips, she crafted her personality, her reasoning. Hopefully, she could shore herself up against any attempts at indoctrination. 

A ping from her tablet broke her recitation. She finished the last few syllables and pulled up the message. It was from an unknown source. 

“How do we trust that you are on our side?” it read. No signature. No indication who it came from.

Satya already her answer planned. “I have seen Vishkar’s efforts in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro,” she typed. “I have watched them turn away children in need of aid in favor of a community center that provides only a handful of jobs.” 

As she typed, her mind conjured images of the burn scars marring the little girl, Rosa’s, face. What a shame, such ugliness on a girl so young. Satya knew doctors who may have been able to fix it, but Vishkar taught her to invest only in projects that a strong chance of success. She couldn’t give false hope to a girl who had already been made imperfect.

Of course, it made a convenient reason for her defection. Better yet, it had a kernel of truth. She did want to help Rosa and she had once been naive enough to think that she could.

This time, it only took her a few minutes to receive a reply. “Please remain in your current location. We will send an operative to your location within twenty-four hours.”

That… that was a bit worrying. If Satya was to truly defect, Vishkar would come for her to prevent that and she had taken steps against it. If a long defunct organization of aged soldiers could find her that quickly, Vishkar had to be able to do it faster. But the records stated that Symmetra was traveling alone to Sao Paulo to assist in the constructions there. Vishkar had no reason to find her missing yet. 

Satya didn’t reply. She had no need to. Instead she packed up her supplies and tried to sleep. When no rest came, she danced to her favorite song, one she had listened to so many times that she no longer needed to play it. It occupied a special place in her heart and she could bring it to the forefront of her mind at will.

By the time she tired of dancing, she had worn herself down enough that she could sleep. After placing a turret on each wall of her room, she tucked herself in and waited for her mind to quiet.

She woke up the next morning, stretching the stiffness out of her limbs. It was always worse when she slept on the floor, but she couldn’t exactly bring her weighted blanket with her when she travelled light. She blinked her eyes open and swore heavily.

An Omnic with a humanoid design, green body lights, and a pair of katanas sat on her bed. Her turrets were nowhere to be seen.

Satya scrambled back, reaching for her weapon. The Omnic held their hands out in a placating gesture.

“I apologize,” they said, their voice soft and thickly accented. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“How long were you watching me?” Satya demanded, grateful that she had forgotten to undress before she fell asleep.

“A few minutes at most,” the Omnic said. “You started waking up when I took out the turrets. They were well placed. I could not dispatch them silently.”

“Are you with Overwatch?” Satya asked, casting her eyes around the room for any other secret agents that had made it to her dingy little hotel room.

The Omnic nodded. “My name is Genji Shimada. Winston sent me to escort you to our headquarters. You are the Vishkar defector, yes?”

“Yes,” Satya confirmed, thankful that she had trouble making facial expressions. It helped hide her revulsion at being called a traitor. “I am Satya Vaswani.” It felt like another betrayal to give an Overwatch agent her name when Overwatch was sheltering a known terrorist, but she had never failed a mission before. She wasn’t about to start now. “How do you intend to travel?” she asked. “I assume you were airdropped in.”

Genji shook their head. “No, I just happened to be in the area. But there is no great need for secrecy just yet . We can take a normal plane back.”

“I don’t have a passport,” Satya said. “And international Omnic travel is still restricted in Brazil. I have seen the videos and you are not operating out of Brazil.”

Genji tilted their head to one side. “No, we are not,” they admitted. “But I am a cyborg, not an Omnic. Still human, if only legally. And you can just use your Vishkar ID. That’s a valid passport, unless I am mistaken.”

Satya blinked. “I have never met a cyborg before,” she said before she could stop herself. “Oh! I’m sorry, that must be a rude question.”

Genji chuckled. “It must be, but don’t worry. I am used to such questions. I was injured many years ago and the prosthetics ended up being more extensive than anybody really wanted. I have come to terms with this body though. And, no, I will not tell you how I was injured.”

“Can I examine your body?” Satya asked and then winced. “The mechanics of it, I mean. I wouldn’t want to, you know… Not that I don’t like you it’s just…” She groaned, burying her head in her hands.

Thankfully, Genji took pity on her. “I will ask Mercy to give you the blueprints when we reach headquarters, but we should leave soon. I want to be out of Brazil before Vishkar realizes that you are not in Sao Paulo.”

Satya nodded. “Yes, I would like that too, but there is still a slight problem.”

“And what would that be?” Genji asked.

Satya stared at the cyborg. 

“Seriously,” Genji said. “What is this problem?”

“Vishkar monitors all its agents,” Satya pointed out. “They receive word from every location where we use our IDs.”

“Yes, yes, I understand this,” Genji said. “Which is why we should leave before they notice that you haven’t turned up wherever you are supposed to be.”

“It is also why I can not use my Vishkar ID in a public airport,” Satya explained.

Genji rocked back on their heels. “Ah. Yes. That would be a problem.” They shook their head. “Alright, let me think.”

Satya watched as they paced the room, muttering to themself in Japanese. For a well trained, and very stealthy, agent, they seemed a lot less prepared than Satya would ever allow herself to be for a mission.

“I have an idea,” Genji finally said. “Have you ever stolen a helicopter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how I became so obsessed with Overwatch so quickly, but here we are. I'm gonna shoot for updating every Sunday. Fair warning: Satya has a lot of indoctrination to work through and it's going to take a while. I love her and believe her, but she has a long road ahead of her and I intend to write her as such. She's gonna have a pretty ugly thought process to work through for a while.
> 
> Also, I'm autistic so if any of her quirks seem weird or unlikely to you, they're probably things that I actually do myself. 
> 
> There will be more characters and plot next chapter. This one is basically all setup.
> 
> If you like this, please leave a review. Reviews are like oxygen to authors.


	2. Chapter 2

Satya blinked in shock. “No. I- I haven’t stolen a helicopter.”

Genji shrugged. “Alright then, it shouldn’t be too hard. I can walk you through it.”

“I thought the point was to keep a low profile?”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Genji asked.

Satya didn’t.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she returned to Rio de Janeiro. Even on the other side of the city from the favelas, she knew that Vishkar had eyes and ears everywhere. And she didn’t want Vishkar to find her. She wanted to stay with Overwatch. She still had to remind herself of her loyalties, but they were solidifying in her mind.

While large displays of power would attract attention, Satya specialized in detail work. She had altered the planes of her face to fit in better with the locals and disguised her metal hand to look like flesh and blood.

Genji had just worn a hoodie over his metal faceplate. They looked like a young couple out on the town, perhaps not obeying the law as diligently as a citizen of Vishkar’s developments would, but not enough to arouse suspicion. 

The main police headquarters kept a fleet of six helicopters, ready for deployment at a moment’s notice. As impressive as that number sounded, Satya knew that they could only afford to keep one pilot on the premises full time.

That one pilot, Lorena Almeida, had just left for her lunch break. She walked to a small cafe around the corner and Satya and Genji followed her inside. Almeida sat in a corner by the window with her coffee. Satya bought two muffins and a green tea with Genji’s currency card. They chatted quietly, Genji keeping a casual eye on Almeida. Five minutes into lunch, Genji stood up from his seat and went to the restroom. Ten minutes later, after the occasional glance at her watch and sigh, Satya threw her empty cardboard cup in the trash and stormed to the door. 

“You alright?” Almeida asked. 

Satya shook her head. She had played the jilted lover so often she could do it in her sleep. “If he didn’t think we were working, he could have just said so,” she huffed. “Didn’t have to sneak out the window. He drove me here too.”

“I can call you a cab of you like,” Almeida offered. 

Satya made a show of considering it. “I don’t know. I live close by but-”

Almeida cut her off. “This is no place for a pretty young woman to be walking alone, even in broad daylight. I’ll take you home.”

“Are you sure?” Satya asked, surprised. She had expected it to take a little longer to convince the cop. 

“It’s no trouble,” Almeida said with a wave of the hand. “I’m a police officer; it’s my job to help people.”

“Really?” Satya whispered. “That’s so cool. Have you ever like caught a killer or anything?”

Almeida raised an eyebrow. “You may not like us, sweetheart, but this city would be in a lot more trouble without us.”

Satya winced inwardly. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I have trouble conveying emotion. I meant to sound sincere.”

Almeida gave her a hard look then shook her head, mumbling something about doctors and wards. Satya had learned a long time ago that she would be much happier not knowing the particulars of those kinds of mutterings. But at least Almeida had already entrenched herself in duty. 

“At least you’re polite enough to apologize. Come on. My lunch break’s almost over.”

Satya had never been bothered by the fact that she was autistic. She even looked at it as a gift sometimes. But it would be a lie for her to say that she didn’t feel a little less guilty about what she and Genji had planned. She led Almeida down a quiet side street, not quite an alleyway, and refused to flinch when she heard a thump behind her. 

“Clear,” Genji said. 

Satya didn’t want to know where he had appeared from in the straight narrow path of houses or why he had a new sweatshirt with cartoon birds printed on it, so she nodded and bent down to study Almeida’s features. 

When she had a convincing enough disguise, they left, leaving Almeida tied hand and foot in a real alleyway. Satya left a sentry turret above her head to keep her from being attacked before she regained consciousness. She didn’t like the woman, but she didn’t want her dead either. 

A simple light bending projection cloaked Genji long enough that Satya got into the helicopter unquestioned. There was only one small problem left. 

“I have no idea how to fly a helicopter,” she murmured. 

“I can talk you through it,” Genji whispered back. 

“You have no idea just how badly that won’t work,” Satya hissed. “I can already barely understand you, let alone pilot a helicopter too.”

“You got any better ideas?”

Satya was coming to hate that phrase. 

The second they landed on a cliff overlooking the city, Satya took out her tablet and started typing frantically, recording all the various offerings she would have to make to various deities to settle the debt. Genji watched her curiously for a few moments before turning his attention to the sky.

“I don’t think a hunt’s started for us yet,” Satya mentioned, stowing away her tablet in the bag that had somehow managed to not fall out of the helicopter.

“I am watching for our pilot,” Genji explained. 

Just as he spoke, a plane appeared out of the clouds. It flew down until it was only thirty or so feet above them and dropped down a rope ladder. Genji took Satya’s bag and clambered up, while Satya followed slowly and cautiously, being careful not to look down.

Their pilot was a cheerful British woman with an unfamiliar piece of technology strapped to her chest. She introduced herself as Tracer.

A few minutes into the flight, Tracer surrendered control of the tiny jet to Genji and sat down across from Satya. 

“So,” Tracer began. 

Satya raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“You’re the one who broke free of Vishkar, right? How did you do it? I thought they used calm music or whatever to control people.” Tracer sat leaning forward, elbows braced on her knees. 

Satya leaned back, doing her best to preserve her personal space. “Vishkar has never seen the need to use music to control those who can be managed through less blatant means.”

“What do you mean?” Tracer prompted, eyes wide and bright. 

“They offered me an education and a job,” Satya said with a wary shrug. “It was a long time before I thought to desire more.”

A small frown flickered across Tracer’s face. “Oh, okay,” she said, then shook herself. “It’s a long flight and kinda bumpy. I have some sleeping pills if you want them.”

Satya accepted them gratefully and fell asleep with the nagging feeling that she had missed something important in that brief exchange. 

Travel had always exhausted her and she did not wake up until the plane touched down. She reclaimed her bag from Genji and followed him and Tracer into the Overwatch headquarters. From the outside, it looked completely abandoned, but Tracer pulled aside a thatch of overgrown vines to reveal the elevetor door. Satya couldn’t help but notice that she had no idea where she was and no one seemed inclined to tell her. 

“Winston’ll want to talk to you before we get you settled,” Tracer said. “He’s our head scientist and kinda in charge of things for now.”

“He only likes to be addressed as a scientist,” Genji added, “or Winston. But he is a scientist before anything else.”

“He also happens to be a gorilla,” Tracer clarified. “But you don’t need to bring it up. He knows he’s a gorilla. He’ll ask you some stuff, make sure you’re ready to join, figure out where you’ll be useful, and then we’ll find you a room. You’ll probably end up rooming with Mei.”

“Mei?” Genji asked. “She’s alive?”

“Oh, right, you weren’t there for that. She came out of cryostasis a month ago. We picked her up last week while you were out doing… whatever it is that ninja cyborgs do when they aren’t on base catching up with old friends who miss them dearly and would very much like to know how they are.” 

Genji didn’t respond to her not exactly subtle taunts. “Did anyone else make it out?”

Tracer sighed. “No. She was the only one to make it into stasis on time. Poor girl’s still shook up about it. And Overwatch was still around when she went under. Just as cheery as ever though. Nothing keeps our Mei down for long.”

Satya suspected that Tracer could have kept talking for hours, but the elevator ride didn’t last that long. The doors slid open and Satya found herself face to face with a gorilla. The gorilla wore rectangular glasses and a jet pack. 

“You must be Winston,” Satya said for lack of anything better to say.

Winston nodded. “And you must be Satya Vaswani. I must say, I didn’t expect to see a former Vishkar agent here anytime soon.”

“Neither did I,” Satya answered honestly.

Winston smiled. “Come along. I’d like to get you into Overwatch as quickly as possible. We need all hands on deck right now, I’m afraid. Tell me, are you familiar with an organization known as Talon?”

Satya followed Winston to his office. He had forgotten to provide a chair, but she was more than happy to sit on the floor, sliding back and forth from under his desk while they talked. His interrogation was gentle and hidden in pleasant conversation, but still thorough. He never directly questioned her being there and gave more information than may have been prudent, but she too let a few secrets slip. It was almost like a game of wits, if Satya wasn’t excruciatingly aware of the consequences if Overwatch figured out she was a spy.

Satya had never been good at keeping track of time, but the AI, Athena, cut Winston short after a few hours. 

“It is now eight o’clock in the morning,” Athena reported. “Most of the team is awake now. You should probably get to work.”

Winston chuckled. “Ah, yes. I’ll get Tracer to show you to your room and you can meet the rest of us on your own time.” He adjusted his glasses. “We can be a bit of a rowdy bunch. I wouldn’t want to scare you off on day one.”

“Thank you,” Satya replied fervently. Just knowing she would have a roommate put her on edge. She needed to have some time away from the chaos of humans. Even Omnic presence could wear her thin.

“It’s quite alright,” Winston said. “Gibraltar isn’t one of our larger outposts. I try to avoid getting everyone into one room if I can.”

So they were in Gibraltar. And Winston had told her. Satya took that to mean that she finally won the scientist’s trust. She flapped her flesh hand in delight. Winston wasn’t looking at it so he had no reason to suspect her. She wouldn’t give him a reason to suspect her of anything.

She flapped openly when Winston gave her an Overwatch comm unit and badge (along with a warning not to wear the badge given that Overwatch was still illegal). She even felt a smile on her face, which was enough for her to conjure tiny fireworks in the palm of her hand.

“You have some skill,” Winston noted, watching the fireworks.

“I should hope so,” Satya said.

Her steps felt so light she could have been floating as Tracer led her down the narrow, winding halls of the Gibraltar outpost.

“Well, here we are,” Tracer announced, her hands on her hips, standing proudly before a plain brown door. “Home, sweet mostly home. Until it gets blown up or something.” She smiled in contentment.

“Is it likely to get blown up?” Satya asked nervously, her heart falling back to earth.

Tracer shrugged. “Probably.” At Satya’s distressed hum she added, “Not for a while though. We have good security. Don’t worry, luv, we’re perfectly safe here.”

Before Satya could respond, the door swung open.

Satya’s jaw dropped and she rocked back on her heels. In the doorway stood a woman who strongly resembled a wall of muscle and pink hair. She was grinning, clearly talking to someone in the room. She had a tattoo on her shoulder, which was probably the size of Satya’s head. Satya knew that tattoo and she knew the woman who wore it.

Aleksandra Zaryanova.

The world famous soldier looked at Satya with a stunning grin.

“So, you are my new roommate, _da_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that whole bit about me updating weekly? Turns out reviews fuel me even more than I thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: meltdown with self injurious stimming.

Satya had seen pictures and holovids of the nigh legendary soldier before, but none of them could have prepared her for the real Aleksandra Zaryanova.

Zaryanova stood head and shoulders above Satya, every muscle in her body as toned as if she had been carved out of the finest muscle. Even the scar on her brow that should have marred her appearance, made it imperfect and obscene, balanced out the flick of her pink hair. She was dressed in nothing but a sports bra and athletic shorts, showing off her whole body. A towel held casually in two fingers over her shoulder showed off the flex of her massive arms.

It took Satya a few seconds to even register the question. By the time she had, Tracer had answered for her.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Zaryanova said. “I was just going to the gym. You can join me if you want.”

Satya found her voice. “That would be lovely. Let me just-” she gestured towards the room.

“Of course,” Zaryanova said. “The monk is making your bed up now.” A slight scowl crossed her face. “Ze likes to be useful. Just dump your stuff on the bed and you can move in properly later.”

Satya nodded and passed into her room. Sure enough, an Omnic in monk’s robes floated in the center of the room. 

“Greetings,” ze said. “Peace be upon you.”

“And on you,” Satya replied, putting down her bag and hurrying out. 

“Ze can be unnerving, but rarely malicious,” Zaryanova explained. “And useful to have on our side.”

“Right, of course,” Satya said. “I’ve worked with Omnics before.” 

She fell into step beside Zaryanova, who was clearly taking shorter strides to let her keep up. 

“Have you?” Zaryanova asked with mild curiousity. “Well, I imagine Vishkar is very different to my homeland.” She shook her head abruptly. “Where are my manners? My mother would be furious. I am Aleksandra Zaryanova, but I am called Zarya.”

“I know who you are,” Satya assured her. She looked around curiously as they walked. The Gibraltar base was larger than Satya expected and the paint marking any directions had long ago been chipped away, evident only in the occasional fleck on the floor. It was eerie, the decay of what had once been so great. She shuddered to imagine that Vishkar might come to the same end. 

“And you are?” Zarya asked. 

Satya blushed. “Satya Vaswani.”

“Well, Ms. Vaswani,” Zarya declared, rounding another unmarked corridor, “welcome to my domain.”

The gym was even larger than the one in Vishkar Headquarters, Satya noticed with a sense of distant awe. Some machines she had seen before but others were completely unfamiliar. One wall sported a mural of various sporting stars, including Zarya herself. A large pool lay in the opposite end of the gym. A track encircled the gym and an empty sparring mat stood proudly in the center. 

Satya’s mind catalogued all of this in the instants before the only other person in the gym spoke up. 

“Your domain!” the old man roared. “I built this place with my own two hands before you were a twinkle in your parent’s eyes!”

Zarya laughed a deep belly laugh. “It is not my fault you have grown feeble in your old age, Reinhardt, staryy chelovek.”

Reinhardt Wilhelm, one of Overwatch’s most famous operatives, didn’t miss a beat. “And yet does not that old adage state that age comes before beauty?”

“Be watchful, flirt, you are a married man.”

Wilhelm nodded. “So I am. I suppose I must content myself to share this fine gymnasium of mine.” He grinned broadly. “Good to have you back.”

“And I have brought our newest member with me,” Zarya said.

Satya tried not to flinch when Wilhelm looked at her. Even besides his massive size, the force of his personality filled the room. She smiled thinly and nodded.

“Splendid!” Wilhelm crowed. “You are the architech, yes?”

Satya nodded again, keeping her eyes fixed on a point just over his shoulder, though she had no idea what exactly she was looking at.

“You must meet Torbjorn then,” Wilhelm declared. “He will be glad to have another engineer to grouse at about us.”

“Not my fault that you fling yourself into battle like a moose calf hopped up on energy drinks and whiskey,” a voice from behind Satya pointed out.

She turned to see a short man with a thick bushy beard and a clawed prosthetic. “Nice to meet you and whatever,” he said. “I’m Torbjorn Lindholm. My friends call me Torby. You don’t. Not yet. If Reinhardt there asks you to fix his stuff, do us all a favor and break his jaw. He’s got his own mechanic.”

“Brigitte is a young woman and she needs her sleep,” Reinhardt insisted.

“She’s not a toddler,” Torbjorn shot back.

“They’ll be at this for a while,” Zarya murmured to Satya. “They are good friends, but old men, and old men must argue for their own health.”

She led Satya away from the bickering pair, her hand hovering a scant few centimeters behind Satya’s shoulder. 

“Tell me,” Zarya prompted, throwing down her towel on a weight bench, “do you lift?”

Satya shook her head. “I dance,” she explained. “That is all the exercise I need and I enjoy it immensely.”

Zarya nodded. “You can use the ring to dance, if you’d like. I do not want you to be bored while I work out.”

Symmetra nodded. “That would be nice.”

“You have music?” Zarya asked.

“I don’t need it.”

Satya took her place on the sparring mat, rocking forward onto her toes in the center, while Zarya bellowed for Reinhardt to come spot her. It was almost unnerving, watching Zarya switch between polite calm and loud boisterousness. Zarya loaded nearly the heaviest weights in the room onto a bar and took position for a bench press. 

Zarya completed an entire rep of ten lifts before Satya realized that she had been completely still, staring off into space. Her calves burned with exertion. She tapped her fingers in the air until she found her rhythm and began her dance.

She lost herself in the motions, remembering music that she hadn’t heard since she was a small child in Hyderabad. Perhaps she hadn’t heard it in years, but it was just as much a part of her as her flesh and bone. A few parts had drifted from her memory over the years and her brain caught on other places, calling her to repeat them over and over, but she never felt freer and more in control than she did when she danced. She wove hard light around her as she danced, not anything in particular but little structures that could have decorated a city wall, letting them fall to pieces when her fingers brushed by them again.

Eventually, the burning in her lungs and legs forced her to stop, bracing herself to catch her breath, long hair falling in her face like a curtain. She hadn’t worn it loose in a very long time. Her hair fell gently, not pulling on her skull the way her normal bun did.

“You dance very well,” Zarya said, reminding Satya that she wasn’t alone.

She stood up and looked around. Torbjorn and Reinhardt were nowhere to be seen, but a few new people had entered the gym at some point. Genji, she recognized. An Omnic in the robes of a Shambali monk floated next to him, conversing quietly. A Chinese woman with a soft face who seemed vaguely familiar sat on the bench, fiddling with a drone of some sort. Zarya herself leaned against the ropes of the sparring ring, her body covered in a sheen of sweat and flushed from exertion. 

There was only one other person. Satya recognized him instantly.

Lucio Correia dos Santos.

Exertion and shock did not go well together, Satya noted as she stumbled and fell to the ground. She rolled herself into a sitting position, eyes closed, staring at the floor. She was panicking, at least she thought she was. That seemed like a likely explanation for the ragged sounds she seemed to be making.

Her fingers tapped against her thigh, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four. Sixteen. Symmetrical. And again. One two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four. She wanted to stop, but her mind was uneven. Halfway there. Stop hitting yourself. Halfway there. One two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four. There were hands on hers and she shrieked and clawed until the hands went away and she could tap tap tap tap again. One two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four.

The hands on her moved, placing themselves between her fingers and her thigh, giving her something else to scratch. Oh, she had been scratching herself. That was why Zarya was worried. Zarya was here, stopping her from scratching herself, speaking to her, and Satya fluttered her hands like a fly swatter to stop the buzz of speech where it scratched against her ears. Zarya was here, which meant Zarya was watching her and they were in a gym which meant other people were watching her and other people were watching and she was out of control. Imprecise. Imperfect. Inadequate.

She tried to stand up but her legs were sore and they didn’t want to let her move and she couldn’t move and her shoulders were heaving and shaking and there was something itchy on her leg and she brushed it away and it clung to her fingers and she had managed to draw blood scratching herself and she had to wash it off and patch it up because it wouldn’t do to get infected from something as fucking stupid as hurting herself because she couldn’t keep in control.

“Satya, can you look at me?” Zarya asked, calm and cool, surging in beneath the depths of Satya’s meltdown. Satya shook her head.

“Can you understand me?” 

Satya nodded.

“Can I take you to the medic?” Zarya asked. “I will have to touch you to do so.”

Out out out out. That was all Satya wanted. She wanted to get out. She nodded. Other words were said but she could not make sense of them, just that Zarya brought her to a quiet dark room and left her alone with a one-way communicator for when she was ready to talk.

Satya’s meltdown ended eventually and she opened up the communicator, sending a text message to Zarya. 

Zarya responded in seconds: “Our medic, Dr. Zeigler, would like to talk to you. Are you ready for this? It is just a few questions.”

Satya sent back a “yes” and opened the door, squinting against the sudden inpour of light. Zarya was there, waiting for her with a mug of hot chocolate. She had donned a bright pink athletic jacket with Russian lettering and soft white sweatpants. Satya sipped the hot chocolate gratefully while Dr. Zeigler, Mercy, patched up the wound in her thigh.

“I don’t normally have episodes like this,” Satya offered quietly, hoping that Overwatch wouldn’t think her too disabled to keep on as an agent. 

Mercy smiled. “You’re far from the only one here who has episodes,” she said. “Although I’ll admit I’m more used to dealing with flashbacks.”

Mercy was kind and considerate and listened to Satya’s explanation of how her brain worked without the slightest hint of shock or confusion. She didn’t even begin to question how an autistic agent would be able to function. In fact, she put in an order for a weighted blanket without Satya even having to mention it.

“It will take a few days to arrive because of our security systems, but I will have it to you as soon as possible. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can you help you with.”

Satya nodded her thanks and followed Zarya out of the medbay, feeling vaguely guilty over making the soldier take care of her, but otherwise far better than she usually did after a meltdown.

“Would you mind explaining to me what happened?” Zarya asked. “I had thought you were having a flashback.”

Satya shrugged. “I didn’t expect to see Lucio so soon or so suddenly,” she admitted. “We have been… antagonistic in the past.”

“He stole your technology to save his people from your company,” Zarya surmised bluntly.

“More or less.”

“If it helps, he does not seem to be upset at you,” Zarya said. “In fact, the team has been asking after your health incessantly. What would you like me to tell them?”

That was a new concept for Satya. Being autistic meant she had unique strengths that she was encouraged to develop, but Vishkar had little patience for anyone’s weaknesses. Certainly not enough to spare her dignity within the corporation (amongst outsiders, they were a united force for progress and innovation, but things were different amongst each other).

“Just tell them the truth,” Satya decided. “You can go if you want. I would like to get my room in order now.”

“Of course,” Zarya said. “Just text me what you would like for lunch and I will bring some back for you. I will send you today’s menu when I get down there.”

Satya entered their shared room and locked it behind her, keeping her communicator on the desk where she could keep track of it. A small box with a green frog sticker on it sat on her bed. Satya picked it up curiously and read the letter inside.

“Sorry I startled you,” it read, “We might not be best friends, but I’m glad you made the right choice. -Lucio (P.S. This girl with a big scar on her face, Rosa, told me that a Vishkar architech with a prosthetic left arm saved her life. I don’t know if that was you, but if it was, she and her mother are fine. I put them up with some friends of mine and covered the medical bills.)” 

Satya felt a weight lift off her chest. Maybe they would be able to fix Rosa after all, make her perfect again. She flipped open the box and found an assortment of candies and chocolates. 

She sat on her bed, rereading the letter, and pondered how it was that she could receive such kindness from a man she had been sent to destroy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the support. We're getting towards some actual shippy content, but I want to expand on Satya's interactions with just about every character. (I'll admit, I have an ulterior motive: make y'all love Torbjorn.)
> 
> For reference, current character locations:
> 
> WATCHPOINT GIBRALTAR: Satya, Zarya, Mercy, Tracer, Genji, Zenyatta, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Winston, Lucio, D. Va, Mei, McCree, Bastion
> 
> WHEREVER TALON HANGS OUT: Reaper, Widowmaker
> 
> OFF BROODING SOMEWHERE: Hanzo, Soldier: 76
> 
> WREAKING HAVOC SOMEWHERE: Junkrat, Roadhog, Ana
> 
> ACTUALLY DOING HER DAMN JOB: Pharah
> 
> If you like it, please leave a review! It makes me write faster.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp this is short and late. Sorry about that folks. Anxiety's been kicking my ass. Hopefully I can get back on a normal schedule soon.

Two days later, Satya joined her first mission in Overwatch. Halfway through breakfast the ever present computer monitors switched on. 

“All personnel report to Briefing Room immediately,” Athena ordered.

McCree, the cowboy, groaned and pushed back from the table. “Soon as I sit down,” he grumbled. “Every damn time.”

No one looked particularly happy with the summons, Satya least of all. Winston had explained to her that she would have to fight on the front lines if the need arose. Overwatch was too small to let any of its agents sit back. Satya was more than experienced with espionage and even the occasional fight, but Vishkar did not ask its architechs to be soldier. Still, as close as she clung to Zarya’s side, she forced herself to enter the Briefing Room.

Winston started immediately. “We got word from the RDF of a secondary omnium in Siberia. They don’t have the forces to divert, but we could shut it down with a small strike team. It won’t end the crisis, but it will slow down the Omnic advance considerably. Any volunteers?”

“I’ll go,” Zarya said instantly.

“And I,” Genji added.

“Not in that body you won’t,” Mercy broke in. “That body’s not built for Siberian temperatures.”

Genji shrugged. “Then switch me to my cold weather body.”

Mercy shook her head. “That’s an eight hour surgery and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“I can handle cold weather,” Mei, the little Chinese climatologist, offered. “I would prefer not to kill, but I can run interference.”

“Same here,” Correia said. “I’ve got a song that can scramble an Omnic’s servers in no time. Won’t kill ‘em but it’ll slow ‘em down.”

“It’s very effective,” Zenyatta added in a serene voice. “Although it would obviously prevent myself or Bastion from joining this fight.”

“Lucio, you can heal, right?” Winston asked.

Correia nodded. “Sure can.”

“So that’s Zarya, you, and Mei,” Winston confirmed. “We still need an engineer to take down the Omnium. Torbjorn?”

The gruff old man shook his head. “I’m not as young as I used to be, Winston. I can get a turret up if you need it and take an Omnium apart with my bare hands and a piece of string, but I’m not gonna be keeping up with the youngins anymore.”

Satya swore inwardly. She had hope this situation wouldn’t come up. Still, what better way to prove herself to Overwatch than to help them with a mission? “I think I have a solution,” she offered.

Every eye turned toward her and she looked over Winston’s shoulder to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

“I have a few teleporter units with me,” she explained. “I can set one up here and another at the Omnium once we arrive. Each one can only handle five or six people at that distance, but I can bring more than one and just put down a new one if the first breaks.” 

For a moment, no one spoke and Satya’s fingers twitched nervously.

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea to me,” McCree finally said, giving her a wide, roguish grin. “I think I’ll tag along for this, get used to fightin’ again.”

“Jesse, did you ever stop fighting?” Mercy asked tiredly.

“Fightin’ with a team,” McCree corrected without missing a beat. “But if it’s not too much trouble, doc, switchin’ out my arm for a cold weather model wouldn’t go amiss.”

“We need to move as quickly as possible,” Zarya broke in. “Every second we do not fight, innocent people die.”

“Zarya’s right,” Winston said. “Here’s the plan: Zarya, Satya, Mei, and Lucio will be our first strike team. Once they get on the point, Satya will set up a teleporter to bring in McCree and Torbjorn to take out the Omnium. Mei, Satya, and McCree will guard the exit while Zarya, Lucio, and Torbjorn move on the objective. Mercy will stay base side by the teleporter in case the guard team has an emergency. That’s two people there, or three if necessary. Then we can use that teleporter plus one more to bring the team back. Any questions?”

“Plan B?” Tracer asked. 

That sparked off another round of discussion. Satya listened carefully but she didn’t speak much. Her purpose had been made clear. After nearly an hour of discussion and debate, Winston finally dismissed the strike team. 

Zarya’s usual bright smile had dimmed as she strode back to their room. Satya had seen Zarya’s cannon before; it was impossible to ignore propped up against the wall. She had not, however, seen Zarya pick it up with one hand and carry it over her shoulder. 

“Dress warm,” Zarya advised.

Satya grabbed all the warm clothes she had, throwing them into a bundle with her pistol at the center. She also added her teleporters and maintenance kit to the pile. She and Zarya reached the plane first and Satya ducked into the tiny bathroom to change. 

The plane was a jet with three seats on each side, low enough that Zarya had to duck her head to avoid scraping the ceiling. Satya put her stuff down on the seat closest to the exit. 

By the time she pulled on all her layers of clothing, Mei and Correia had arrived. 

Satya took one look at Correia and sat down as far away from him as possible, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Hey, Satya, right?” Correia asked. 

Satya nodded, looking across the plane out the window. 

“You gonna be cool working with me?”

Satya nodded again. “I can keep my focus on the task at hand.”

“Right,” Correia said. He sounded suspicious. She had probably misinterpreted his question, but she did not have the mental energy to try and correct herself. 

“How long is the flight?” Mei asked. 

“Five hours,” Zarya replied, pulling out a pack of cards. “And we’re dropping in.” She started dealing out the cards. “Anyone know how to play durak?”

Satya didn’t like card games. She could never remember the rules long enough to stand a chance of winning and it had always seemed like a pointless competition. Still, she wanted nothing more than to take her mind off the upcoming mission. 

It turned out that only Zarya knew the game and even then, she didn’t play it very well. Mei got the hang of it first and before long, she was wiping the floor with the rest of them. Satya generally came in second. Correia spent a lot of time grumbling about getting a bad hand, but Zarya maintained that he lost by his own merits.

Just as their fifth game ended, Athena’s voice sounded in the comm. “T-minus five minutes to drop zone.”

Zarya swept up the cards, grim faced. “Weapons check,” she ordered.

Satya obediently did one final sweep of her equipment. Gun: functional, teleporters: functional, turrets: functional. “I will shield you,” she declared, placing a shield on each of her comrades.

“Thanks,” Correia said, giving her an awkward smile.

Satya nodded back. “It is a small shield. You cannot rely on it, but I can hope that it will be useful nonetheless.”

“Can it survive a one hundred foot fall?” Zarya asked.

Satya blinked. “Why would it need to?”

“Hey, Mei,” Correia called at the same time. “Where’s the parachutes?”

Zarya and Mei looked at each other. Mei giggled. “Don’t be silly, Lucio, why would we use parachutes?”

“To, um, not... die?” Correia offered. 

Zarya scoffed. “You are healer, yes? Play some healing music and you will be fine.”

“He is here to disable the omnics,” Satya broke in. “He can’t play two songs at once.”

“Hey, man, don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Correia said. “But yeah she’s right. I can keep us from getting shot or dying by falling. Pick one.”

“I may be having second thoughts about this mission,” Satya mumbled. 

“You and me both,” Correia said. He and Satya stood facing the two older soldiers, similar expressions of fear and dismay on their faces.

“I am stuck in ice for just ten years and all the children grow up soft,” Mei tutted. “You play your music and Zarya and I will shoot.”

“Have you two made jumps like this before?” Zarya asked.

Satya and Lucio-she needed to start thinking of him as an ally-shook their heads in unison.

“Then Mei will shoot and I will carry you both.”

Zarya seemed to think that this decided the conversation and she turned away, strapping a leather belt to her massive turret gun. 

“I’m still not sure about jumping out of a plane into enemy fire without a parachute,” Lucio said nervously, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You broke into Vishkar without issue,” Zarya said. “You will be fine. And the shields will protect you some more. I have done this many times and I have not broken my legs often.”

“Often,” Satya repeated. “That means you have broken your legs before.”

“T-minus sixty seconds,” Athena proclaimed. 

“We do not have time to argue.” Zarya threw the gun over her shoulders, holding the leather strap in her teeth. Mei climbed on her back, using the gun as a perch and bracing her own gun on Zarya’s shoulder. Zarya picked Satya and Lucio up, one in each hand and strode to the back of the cabin, not even flinching under the weight.

“Don’t worry,” Mei said with a light laugh. “I have done this many times before.”

“Why?” Satya demanded, riding waves of panic into something that resembled calm. “You’re a scientist not a soldier.”

“I’m a climatologist,” Mei explained.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Satya asked, but her words were lost in the shriek of the wind as the cabin doors opened.

Satya’s vision tunneled, only aware of the biting cold and Zarya’s pink nail polish. Even in a Siberian blizzard, she still hadn’t bothered to put on her gloves. Satya was dimly aware of Lucio fumbling with his sonic amplifier, calm music filling her body and warming her bones, almost enough to cancel out the hissing of Mei’s ice pistol.

Then Zarya jumped and the sheer terror of freefall blocked out Satya’s screams.


End file.
